


Sweet and sour, spicy and bitter (the flavours of love)

by Mirach



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Knifeplay, M/M, Making Out, Orgasm Delay, Smut, Temperature Play, sex in the rain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirach/pseuds/Mirach
Summary: Exploring the intimacy of Aziraphale's and Crolwey's relationship in short NSFW ficlets inspired by flavour prompts.All of these are consensual, written with the assumption that boundaries were discussed thoroughly some time ago and everything happening is well within them.Note: If you follow me and don’t want these in your inbox, you can subscribe to the series "My Good Omens stories" instead, I'm keeping that one free of E stories.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 42
Collections: Spice Rack





	1. lime

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Snack drawer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485108) by [Nen (Nenchen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenchen/pseuds/Nen). 



> These were inspired by a discord server, I don't usually write NSFW but they looked fun and I couldn't resist :D Check also other flavours we did in the [Spice Rack](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SpiceRack/works) collection!  
>   
> Contents:  
> 1\. lime (temperature play, blow jobs, Crowley receiving)  
> 2\. tabasco (dancing, knifeplay, making out)  
> 3\. lavender (hand jobs, orgasm delay, Aziraphale receiving)  
> 4\. matcha (sex in the rain)  
> 5\. cornflower ice cream (Aziraphale has a vulva, cunnilingus)  
> (So far there's no penetrative sex in these so no tops and bottoms).

It’s hot outside, the sun a blazing forge high in the pale sky. Crowley is lying stretched in the freshly cut grass. Scales sprout on his back and he lets the sun rays play on them, reflecting in their glossy sheen. 

He hears soft steps on the grass. He doesn’t open his eyes as the bare feet stop next to him. He’s vulnerable like this, lazily stretching between his two forms, but he can be vulnerable now. He needs no defence here.

His hazy mind registers the sound of ice cubes clinking against a glass, the grass shifting as a body is lying down next to him.

Lips brush against his and they are cold on his heated ones, making the hair on his arms prickle at the unexpected sensation. It draws him into the present moment fully, focusing him. He opens his mouth a little and tastes his angel together with refreshing coldness - an ice cube in Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Slowly it melts in the heat of their desire and Aziraphale withdraws. “The lawn looks so wonderful, my dear,” he whispers. “You must be really hot after such exertion.” He takes another ice cube from the glass. 

Crowley smiles and closes his eyes. As cold lips touch his heated scales, he moans and turns on his back. 

Aziraphale holds the ice cube between his lips and drags it around Crolwey’s nipples. The sun is blazing and the ice is melting, and Crowley shivers, but it’s not from the cold alone. 

Then there’s no ice left and Aziraphale takes him in his mouth, cold against the heat. He digs his fingers into the freshly cut grass and cries out as his heat spills into the coolness and all thoughts dissolve.

It’s hot outside, the sun a blazing forge high in the pale sky. An angel and a demon are lying together in their garden and together, they are neither hot nor cold, but just right.


	2. tabasco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale asks Crowley to dance for him by the bonfire.  
> (dancing, knifeplay, making out)

The night is warm and fragrant with flowers. A bonfire burns under the sky full of stars. 

"Dance for me," Aziraphale says.

"Are you sure, angel? You didn’t like my disco moves."

Aziraphale's eyes narrow with something hungry. "Dance for me like you danced in Nineveh."

"Oh. You… you saw that?"

"Yes. From the roof. I fled then. It was too much. But I won't flee now."

Crowley nods slowly and stands up. He snaps his fingers and his usual clothes disappear, replaced by a veil of midnight black. His hair is long, cascading down his shoulders like waves of molten bronze. Two gleaming daggers are in his hands, reflecting the flames. 

The little bells on his ankle jingle as he moves. 

Aziraphale conjures a little drum and sets it on the ground. The drum starts playing on its own like the heartbeat of the night.

Crowley dances. It's not a human dance. It's the dance of an ancient god, a ritual of love and blood and fertility, a blasphemous, pagan dance for an angel. 

His veil is night and his eyes are stars. He dances like the sun on the spikes of wheat. He dances like a snake, like a ship on a stormy sea. 

The drum beats faster and faster, a heady, wild rhythm.

Crowley glides around the flames and between them, and the daggers in his hands cut the warm breeze. He throws them in the air and catches them with deft fingers. The veil slips to his hips, revealing the lithe body glistening with sweat.

Aziraphale watches.

His eyes follow the demon's every move while his fingers undo his buttons and remove layer after layer of clothes. 

Then he rises and steps into the dance, into the path of the dagger. 

The weapon stops, bronze blade touching pale skin. 

The drum gets quiet.

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s wrist in an unyielding grip and makes a step forward.

The dagger presses into his shoulder and draws blood in a long, shallow cut. A sacrifice for a long-forgotten deity. 

Crowley shivers and licks the carmine drops, eyes wide and full of gold and flames.

They dance together and their dance is as old as humanity, a dance of passion and interlaced bodies, of giving and receiving. They dance like Adam and Eve danced in the Garden, like David danced with Bathsheba. There is blood and sweat and hearts beating together - not human ones, but they can forget about it tonight as they lose themselves in the dance. 


	3. lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in his life, Aziraphale oversleeps.  
> (hand jobs, orgasm delay, Aziraphale receiving)

Aziraphale is asleep.

Crowley watches him with a smile as morning light filters through the patterned curtains and draws shapes on the angel's face. 

Aziraphale sighs and turns in the bed. Then he opens his eyes. He blinks against the light, then focuses on Crowley’s face. "Oh my," he murmurs with surprise. "I seem to have… overslept?"

"Yes," Crowley says like a proud teacher whose pupil managed to solve a difficult task in front of the school inspector. "Your first time oversleeping. How do you feel?"

"Hm… content. Relaxed… somewhere here," Aziraphale points at the area where his chest meets his belly. "It’s like I only now realised there was tension when I can feel its absence."

He makes a move to sit up, but Crowley presses him back into the soft pillows. "Where do you think you are going?" 

Aziraphale looks confused. "To get dressed and get breakfast?"

"That can wait, angel. Now I want you to stay where you are and focus on the absence of tension. Close your eyes… you don't need to be anywhere else. You are here…"

As Crowley speaks, his hand caresses Aziraphale's thigh. The muscles there tense and Aziraphale's breath quickens. 

"No no no," Crowley whispers and his hand stops. "I said relax."

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly. 

"Yes… like that," Crowley smiles and his hand caresses again, inching higher and higher. Every time it encounters tension, it stops. 

The angel learns fast. He's pliant on the soft mattress of their bed, his eyes closed and breath even. He exhales when Crowley’s hand touches his between the legs and envelopes him in a warm palm. 

His sensations focus in that spot and he has a hard time to not move against the hand, but he wills himself to relax. 

He's rewarded by a long, lazy stroke. A shudder runs through his body as Crowley's finger circles his tip. 

He relaxes. 

Crowley makes an approving sound and then his hand moves again and again while the fingers of his other hand caress the inside of Aziraphale's thigh.

There is tension building with every stroke, wanting to spike and Aziraphale pushes it down, layer after layer. He smoothes the spikes and lays them on each other like folding freshly washed sheets. 

Crowley encourages him with soft words.

The layers build up slowly, nearly reaching the top now, filling all of Aziraphale's being like thick honey, and then with one more stroke it all spills over, countless spikes combined into one mighty wave of pleasure that floods all of his senses, and he cries out, his back arching against the bed and it goes on an on…

He sinks back into the pillows and slowly the senses return. The touch of the sheets against his skin. The patterns of light filtered through the curtain. Crowley's face with a proud smile. No tension is left in Aziraphale's body. Even those remnants he wasn’t aware of are gone, replaced with soft warmth of contentment. 

He sighs and closes his eyes. "I think I'll stay in bed for a while longer," he murmurs.


	4. matcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making love in the rain.

The garden is fresh and green, the vigour of spring just passing into the full blooms of summer. Gentle rain rustles on the leaves and seeps into the soil. 

Crowley is standing on the porch, a cup of tea in his hand. 

The door opens and Aziraphale joins him. He breathes in deeply, then steps closer and leans his head on the demon’s shoulder. 

Crowley sips the tea and puts the cup on the windowsill. He stretches his hand and catches a few drops of warm rain into his palm. 

Watching the drops, Aziraphale kisses the place where Crolwey’s neck meets his shoulder, revealed by the low cut of his loose shirt. 

Crowley turns and grins. He takes the angel’s hands and pulls him out into the rain. He’s met by a token resistance, but then Aziraphale follows him under the dove-grey sky. 

“We’ll get wet, you know,” the angel protests and Crowley laughs and removes the shirt. 

“Ah…” Aziraphale says softly. 

Soon the refreshing drops of the early summer shower fall on their naked bodies, connecting into little streams as they find their way down. 

They press together closely, swaying a little, feeling the other one’s breath against their neck. 

The pressure of desire rises between their bodies, contained in the tight space safe from the rain. They move together, and breathe together, and for a moment sun peeks out from tearing clouds and illuminates the drops like diamonds. Then it hides again.

Every gust of breeze cools the wet skin and every touch of their erections sends throbbing heat into the core of their beings. Fingers dig into shoulders, breath shudders against the curve of the neck. 

Heat spills between them. 

A long exhale. 

They sink to their knees on the wet grass, foreheads pressed together. 

_You are mine_ , the rain whispers.


	5. cornflower ice cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly things happen during sex sometimes. You just laugh and go on...  
> (Aziraphale has a vulva, cunnilingus)

Crowley can do interesting things with his tongue. Aziraphale can make interesting sounds when interesting things are being done to him by Crowley’s tongue. And Crowley’s tongue is currently doing some very, very interesting things to the angel’s clitoris. 

_ aaaah... _

_ Oh my dear… _

_ uhmh… _

_ That’s… oh my… Crowley!  _

And Crowley smiles and goes on, exploring all the delightful sounds he can elicit from his angel.

But Aziraphale wants more. He wants to see Crowley doing it, wants to admire his work like the masterpiece of an artist. His position is not too favourable for that, though.

He opens his wings and on the wings, hundreds of eyes open, blue like summer sky, all directed at Crowley…

...whose forked tongue is currently sticking out of his mouth and undulating like the hips of a disco dancer. His cheeks seem to move independently, as if chewing an oversized bubble gum, and his eyes are almost crossed while squinting at the target of his ministrations. 

He suddenly realises he’s being watched and looks up. His tongue retracts into his mouth with a little _ mlem  _ sound and Aziraphale starts laughing. 

Crowley bursts into laughter as well. 

“I’m sorry dear…” Aziraphale chuckles. “No more peeking, I promise.” He closes the eyes on his wings, and envelopes Crowley inside them, pulling him closer. 

“Indeed,” Crowley grins and miracles a blindfold for the angel before his tongue gets back to where it left off. 

_ Oooooooh… _

_ Oh yes, Crowley! _

_ uhmgn… _

**Author's Note:**

> These are not beta read and I'm not a native speaker, so do point out mistakes if you spot them! If you want me to write another flavour, you can suggest one in the comments.


End file.
